A Lady's Proper Pastime
by mew-tsubaki
Summary: Oneshot. The first and last time Hawthorne is ever sexist towards Mitchell. .::pre-Hawmitch; set before the Guild's arrival in Yokohama::.


**A Lady's Proper Pastime**

A Bungou Stray Dogs oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The _Bungou Stray Dogs_ characters belong to Asagiri Kafuka-sensei, not to me. Hawmitch ridiculousness, because they're good for humor and fluff as well as for drama. :') Read, review, and enjoy!

\- ^-^3

The sound of her laughter could be heard a floor down, as well as outside the house. It made Hawthorne grit his teeth, and he gripped his Bible so tightly in his hands, Melville thought the priest might tear the thing in half.

Actually, it was worse than that. Hawthorne's warm gray eyes grew steely as he returned his attention to his companion. "You'll have to excuse me, Melville," he said sharply, and he was up from the garden chair in the next second.

"Now, Nathaniel, hold on a moment—" Melville started, but, really, the best he could do was scramble to his feet and chase after the impetuous younger man before all hell broke loose.

Hawthorne no doubt knew what spiel Melville was going to reiterate. It wasn't as though it happened all the time, but every now and then Hawthorne and Mitchell got along like cats and dogs. Today would be yet another perfect example of this. "Don't bother trying to stop me," he called over his shoulder as he entered Fitzgerald's mansion, the one in which Fitzgerald was housing most of the Guild for now.

Melville kept on his heels, though, through the foyer and up the stairs, all the way to the little lounge on the second floor, where they found Mitchell and Alcott relaxing surprisingly with Montgomery. The poor girl's face was redder than her hair, and Alcott politely stifled her tittering whilst Mitchell continued to laugh raucously over some exchange amongst the women.

" _Miss_ Mitchell," Hawthorne spat, his syllables clear and precise, so much so Melville imagined a period after each word.

Mitchell calmed as three sets of eyes turned to the men's arrival. She no longer smiled, but it had nothing to do with a dislike for the priest; it'd been quite clear to Melville and Fitzgerald from the beginning that she was more than fond of Hawthorne, after all. Instead, her dull expression no doubt stemmed from the expectation for another of her partner's lectures. "Yes, _Mr._ Hawthorne?"

Hawthorne's hackles went up at her tone, but he kept relatively calm as he forged ahead. "Your complete lack of manners is disruptive to this entire household. I request that you learn some and _practice_ them."

Melville closed his eyes at the dumb declaration, and he heard the stunned little "oh!" from Alcott as she and Montgomery also watched the scene unfold. When the old man peeked a moment later, he saw Mitchell had her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"I _have_ manners," she corrected her partner, standing up from the loveseat she shared with their strategist friend. "So what that I was laughing, regardless of how loudly? I'm merely enjoying myself between missions. You could learn to live a little, too, you know, Hawthorne."

Out of the corner of his eye, Melville saw the muscle twitch on Hawthorne's face as the younger man clenched his jaw. He was going to say something even more idiotic next, wasn't he?

Drawing himself up to his full height as if Mitchell had come to stand right in front of him in an antagonistic fashion, Hawthorne practically clucked his tongue at her. "You pride yourself on being a lady, Miss Mitchell. Then I suggest you keep the noise to an appropriate minimum and pick up some ladylike hobbies. Perhaps needlework or something in that vein." He finished his suggestion with a final push of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and then turned on his heel to head back outside, not even waiting for anyone's reaction.

Melville, Alcott, and Montgomery whipped their heads back to Mitchell, and Melville had never seen her so irate. "Now, I don't think he meant it _quite_ that way, Miss—" he began, but Mitchell cut him off.

"' _Ladylike hobbies_ '?" she shrieked. "' _Needlework_ '?!"

"Margaret, you ought to ignore him," Alcott tried, reaching for her friend.

But Mitchell shook her off and pointed at Montgomery. "No, _Lucy_ ought to ignore _Twain_ when he's getting her goat—it's that dumb thing men do when they pick on the girl they like, dear," she finished as the young girl scowled, once more red-faced, before dashing from the lounge herself. Mitchell seemed fine with that reaction, but she crossed her arms again and tapped the index finger of her right hand on her upper left arm, getting lost in thought. "No, as for Hawthorne, this ought not to be ignored…"

Melville stroked his mustache and ran his hand over his beard and mouth, exchanging a nervous glance with Alcott. "Mitchell, he's…"

Stunningly, Mitchell broke into a wide smile. "He's right."

"What?!" the other two exclaimed in unison.

But the fashionable lady pursed her lips into a wolf's grin. "He is. I really ought to take up such a lady's hobby. Gossip only makes you a gossip anyway," she added with a quick wink in Alcott's direction. Then Mitchell walked past Melville on the landing and disappeared downstairs, humming happily with each bounce in her step.

"Into what alternate dimension did I step that she'd take his…er, 'advice' to heart?" Melville asked Alcott.

The strategist chewed on her lower lip and shook her head, nervously clutching her shawl in both her hands. "No clue."

\- ^-^3

The ill-matched partners were civil and practically courteous the following day, and it put Melville and the others on edge to think that Mitchell would change her personality so quickly and, frankly, _obey_ Hawthorne. That just wasn't like her.

Hawthorne didn't mind, and he even remarked to Melville the day after that about the peace and quiet. "Another day to appreciate God's beauty in silent contemplation," he said, a sort of pleased sighed escaping him as he relaxed in the garden in the back with the old seafarer yet again, his Bible propped open in his lap, enjoying the quiet breeze.

"I suppose so," Melville agreed. But he did so warily. He and the rest of the Guild were used to Hawthorne and Mitchell's childish interactions, so this rather adult conclusion didn't quite make sense…

"Ah, there you two are!" Twain called from the back steps of the mansion. He jerked his head behind him. "Lunch is coming out shortly, and dessert looks real good, so you might wanna hit it before Lovecraft rolls outta bed." He grinned and didn't wait for them to follow him before heading back inside.

Though Hawthorne usually was reluctant to leave his meditative space at another's insistence, Mitchell's obedience had fired up his good mood, and he walked two steps ahead of Melville.

That was when something caught Melville's eye. "Oh!" he gasped before he could stop himself.

Hawthorne glanced back at him from further up the small staircase. "What is it?"

Melville bit his lower lip. To tell the priest or not…? But, really, the embroidered flowers—bright blue morning glories, if he weren't mistaken—on the back hem of Hawthorne's habit weren't _entirely_ noticeable if one wasn't looking exactly there… So Melville shook his head. "No, it's nothing. I simply remembered something I have to do later today," he fibbed.

The younger man gave him a skeptical frown but dropped the subject and carried on.

At least when Melville was next surprised, he swallowed his shock. Tough to do so, too, when he glimpsed the script "Property of M. Mitchell" stitched on Hawthorne's back beneath the habit's cape, an image that flashed when a light breeze blew the fabric up. Mitchell had talent for needlework, it turned out. Melville would have to find an opportunity to compliment her on her skill later.

And Melville figured, once one of the others pointed it out to him (if they did at all…all right, so maybe Melville would speak up once the laughs had been had), that Hawthorne would be done with suggesting hobbies to Mitchell ever again.

\- ^-^3

 **XD I've had this idea for a looong time; I just needed to find the motivation to finish it! :D And I found it when I noticed an uptick in the traffic for my Hawmitch art on tumblr, so yeah—thx, everyone! Some hilarity with the Guild. And, honestly, Mitchell embroidering things on Hawthorne's habits gives me LIFE. Next time he misbehaves, istg she's gonna go out and buy a BEDAZZLER, m'kay? ;D**

 **Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other [** _ **BSD**_ **] fics if you liked this!**

 **-mew-tsubaki XD**


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